Without Her
by WickedLucy
Summary: "And, for that fleeting moment, when I see the hurt on her face, quickly masqueraded by the usual cold look in her eyes, I don't care. I can't bring myself to care, because my mother's body is a few steps away, and my father lost his true love, and my son doesn't have a grandmother anymore and everything is just wrong." SwanQueen oneshot. WARNING: character death.


**Disclaimer: **Once Upon a Time, Storybrooke and any recognizable characters are property of ABC Studios and the Walt Disney Co. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N: **I wrote this for my own sake, really. Hoping it would maybe help me make some sense of things, and help me go through things and really, I apologize if it's horrible, because I wrote the whole thing in about an hour. Hopefully I managed to keep it somewhat in character despite having shamelessly taken Emma's mind for myself. Let me know what you think of this if you can.

* * *

**Without Her**

I knew it the second we stepped into that ship. Call it a hunch, or very good instincts, or a family connection, whatever. But something inside me screamed it the whole time we were there. _Not all of us are going to make it. _After a few days, lost in Neverland, finding Henry, fighting Pan, I knew more than that. I knew _she _wasn't going to make it. And every time I looked into her eyes, I wanted to say it. I wanted to beg her to wait, to be careful, to stay away from the fight. I wanted to hug her and tell her I loved her. I wanted to do something to _show_ that I loved her, before it was too late.

I didn't do any of those things.

Instead, putting the dreadful feeling aside and dismissing it as tiredness from the trip, stress from the last days, from worrying about Henry, I acted exactly the same way I always had. With the calculated distance. The slight resentment I fear will always be there whenever I think of what both of them did, and how it affected the way I grew up. And at the same time, the longing to feel more than that. _One day,_ I kept telling myself.

_We have time._

* * *

Now, as I look at the coffin – David picked one so similar to the one on Henry's books, I notice, heartbroken, as if he hoped it was nothing but a curse that could still be broken – and her face, resting in a peaceful slumber despite the horrors she faced moments before her death, I feel something flowing through me. Something so powerful that I can only assume is magic. But I keep walking, after hours of just standing, not able to get too close, and the tears finally start flowing, the feeling cascades through me and invades my heart. It's not magic at all. It's _grief._

I should be used to loss. I thought I was, really. I have seen loss, experienced it, in all its forms throughout my life. The parents I'd never met, Neal, Henry, Graham. But nothing could have prepared me for this. And what's more amazing is that grief does not always come in the form of tears and sadness. It manifests in so many different ways that you don't even realize you _are_ mourning. It feels almost normal sometimes, the first days, when you get up and you look around and see their things, and you feel like they are just around the corner. Or maybe they left early that day. And then they decided to stay late somewhere else. Ran into someone and lost track of time. Are out somewhere having a drink with their best friend. Everything in your mind screams that they are never coming back, you_ know_ they are never coming back, but you don't panic. Because your heart is still not ready to accept it.

There is an eerie calm to it all as I move through the people and thank them for coming. As faces I barely remember ever meeting come to me and tell me what a great person my mother was. And there are hugs and kisses and contact, because they feel this is what I need. I let them, knowing it brings me no solace, but hoping it will bring some sort of comfort to those people who knew her so much better, and for so much longer than I did.

We exchange stories, and I laugh. I get tired, but I cannot leave. It all happens so fast as it is, I do not dare leaving and missing those last moments, because I know those are all I have now.

Yet, I cannot help myself as I look around, and I keep expecting to see the last person I should be thinking about right now. She's not here. Of course she isn't. A part of me still cringes at the thought that she might make an appearance just to make sure Snow is really dead. But I know better. During our time in the ship and then Neverland, I saw someone different. Someone who is genuinely trying to change. Which is why I keep looking.

Because lately we'd found some kind of understanding. Not all of us, no. But the two of us. In our mission to save our son, we found some common ground. In all the mess and all the curses and magic, we found we were more alike than we ever cared to admit. And saving Henry together proved that sometimes we _need_ each other, no matter how much we hate the idea.

There comes a time when you become tired of their words, of repeating the same things, of hearing condolences and looking at them as they try to figure out what to say to you. You become tired and you just need some fresh air.

And on those moments, your mind is barely working anymore. You have no idea what you are saying and you are definitely not thinking. You don't care about much, other than the fact that you need to make it through the night, because there is more to come.

So when I reach for the phone and look for the still unfamiliar number, I tell myself I am calling to check on how Henry is doing. Kid was still too shaken up and neither of us thought he should be here for this. Maybe after getting some sleep.

"Ms. Swan," she greets me as if this was a business call. It makes me angry, but I take a deep breath and try to ignore it.

"Hi," my voice is so much stronger than I feel, and I am thankful for that, "How is he?"

"Resting," is all she says, and it frustrates me. It frustrates me that she won't even _ask_, that she seems so detached, that my world is falling and this woman, who fought side by side with me, who just recently lost her own mother herself – and I try not to think of the role Snow had in it because this is _not_ about Snow or Cora or whatever happened between them and Regina – keeps acting as if absolutely nothing changed.

"Did he say anything? About wanting to come over later?"

"I will take him as soon as he wakes up," and there it is. Something almost imperceptible, but there is something. The way her voice cracks as she speaks. It's barely there, but I hear it, and, unknowingly, I let out a small sigh.

"Ok…" because I am too tired, I am fucking exhausted and I can't bring myself to say anything else.

She hangs up.

* * *

Henry runs to me as soon as the car stops, and his arms wrapping around my waist bring me some comfort, for the first time that day. He squeezes tight, and I gently ruffle his hair. He doesn't say anything for a while, kid knows better than most adults in this place.

When I finally look up from him, I see her. Standing by the car, looking inside. If I didn't know better, I'd say she seems nervous.

Despite myself, I whisper for Henry to go see David and walk closer. "Thanks for bringing him."

She is surprised, that much is obvious. "How is everything?" her voice is so incredibly soft, unsure.

But hearing it awakens something in me, and for the first time during the day, I feel _something_. It's nothing good, I can tell. But after so many hours of numbness, any feeling is welcome. Anything at all. After so many hours saying everything everyone else wants to hear, it feels good to say what I really want to say.

So this time I am the one who's surprised at how cold my own voice sounds. "How do you _think_ things are?" I snap. "My mother just died. Everything is a mess, and don't think I don't know that you are at least a little bit happy about it." It is impossible to explain clearly, but as I feel angry as her, I let myself be angry at everything, I let myself feel everything I've been telling myself I shouldn't. It is liberating, even if for a moment. And, for that fleeting moment, when I see the hurt on her face, quickly masqueraded by the usual cold look in her eyes, I don't care. I _can't_ bring myself to care, because my mother's _body_ is a few steps away, and my father lost his true love, and my son doesn't have a grandmother anymore and everything is just _wrong_.

I wait for the blow. For the cruel words that are sure to reach my ears in no time, but I am only met by silence, and her stunned face. "I should go."

And it makes me even angrier. "No," I defy her words, and as she turns to leave, I grab her wrist and cause her to turn back around. "No, you don't get to go."

"Excuse me?" I see it in her eyes, the same anger I feel. She _understands _it. She has to.

"I'm here, and Henry is here, and no matter where I go, there is no _escaping_ any of this. And it is just not fair that you get to go and your life will be the same and I am stuck here and her _body_…" the word has barely left my lips, and I feel all the air leave my lungs at once. She's gone. Forever. I have no idea what it will feel like tomorrow, and the day after that, but right now this is the truth I cannot run away from. It is where all my thoughts go, and it is what my heart desperately tries to deny so that it can hold on to some kind of sanity.

I take my hand to my chest as my breathing gets heavier and heavier, and before I know it, I am on my knees and there are more stubborn tears falling from my eyes.

I hear her coming closer, although I dare not look up. I am not sure I would be able to. And then she speaks, and her voice is so incredibly close. "You think this is hard, dear?" her tone is nothing like before. It sounds… caring, and sad. I turn towards the sound, and our eyes meet, and I see my own grief mirrored in hers. "You should try doing this by yourself, mourning someone they all hated, knowing you were the only one who ever cared."

It is not until I feel her energy flowing to me that I even notice her hands over mine. "What are you…?"

"Shhh… just breathe, ok?" she sounds so calm, so certain, and then, little by little, I start feeling something that almost feels like peace. I want to fight it at first, but it does not feel dark or threatening.

My breathing starts to even, and I feel the need to close my eyes. Suddenly feeling the exhaustion from the past weeks, I lean my head to the side and find her shoulder. She doesn't seem to mind. "I'm so tired," I whisper, because even though part of me can't wait until this is all over, the other one is terrified of what will be left.

"What do you need?"

It's what everyone has been asking me. What they can do, that they are there if I ever need anything. And I find myself wishing for someone who simply knows, instinctively, so that I don't have to think about it. "What I need is for people to stop asking me that," I mumble, but it does not contain any venom this time.

She chuckles as we both get up, and with a flick of her wrist, a small brown bag appears and she hands it to me. I look inside and smile. "You're giving me a bear claw?"

"I know you probably haven't eaten anything yet," she smiles back, and for the first time, not everything feels wrong.

I didn't even know I was hungry until I took that first bite. But she did.

They say in times like these you don't even feel like eating. That you forget about such things. That you don't realize time passing, and the days going by. It's been different for me. I've been painfully aware of every second and every day. I feel hungry and I eat. I enjoy a plate of fries and then I feel guilty because isn't it too soon to enjoy such things? Then I look around and wonder if anyone's wondering the same as they see me.

I feel it all at once. The emptiness, there is no way I can stop feeling it. It will probably always be there. And the next days will probably be even worse, as things start to settle, as life resumes and she is still not there. When the coin drops, when my heart catches up with what my mind already knows. Once this is all over, will the worst be over? Or will the worst part be just beginning? The normalcy, the day to day things. The routine. Without her. Isn't that the most difficult part?

I have no idea. I've never dealt with that kind of loss before. But, for now, I am chewing on a delicious magically made bear claw with a tear stained face, and she is looking at me indignantly at my lack of manners. And everything is wrong but something feels right for once.

For now, it doesn't feel so bad. Because she is here, and she doesn't need to ask me what I want and I don't need to tell her what it feels like. She's here, she understands, and, against all odds, I find that she is the one who really knows me, and right now she is the only person I can be completely myself with. Because she's seen me, and she stayed.


End file.
